


What Sort of Elf Takes on a Dragon, Alone?

by Konamicodex



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Angst, Other, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2015-02-21
Packaged: 2018-03-14 09:56:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3406394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Konamicodex/pseuds/Konamicodex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A one-shot glimpse into what was going on in the mind of Thranduil Oropherion in those moments after losing his wife.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Sort of Elf Takes on a Dragon, Alone?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MercuryAlice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MercuryAlice/gifts).



it was most common for elves to wonder, in times of boredom, what it was like for mortals when they died. They had all heard the tales of the Gray Havens, what the ride across the waters was like, the end for an elf, at least, they had an idea of what to expect. 

But Mortality...

It was an absolute unknown, because no mortal's story of near-death ever really matched with another. Lights, tunnels, visions. They were always so mystical, however, despite their variations. Thranduil rather enjoyed pondering over it when he thought of mortals dying around their own kind. What happens after the bodies rot into the earth and become one with the trees he loves so dear. 

That death, that violent ending of life that only desperate or foolish elves get to experience, was not what Thranduil would have expected as his end in his earlier years. He was quite a happy lad, with friends, and caregivers, and even a wife who lit the darkest of evenings with the starlight that burned within her. 

But all lights eventually blink out.

In his devastation, Thranduil threw himself into a fiery pit of misery that just happened to be inhabited by a dragon. Fight the dragon, he thought to himself. Should you win, those tormented by the beast will be grateful and perhaps soften the blow that was the loss of his beloved. Lose, and you shall see her again.

To be honest, he had not gone into that fight expecting to emerge a hero, or rather expecting to emerge at all. 

What a surprise, then, that he should wake in Rivendell with half the world shrouded in darkness and the other holding the fretful visage of his dear old friend Elrond. Words were, understandably, difficult, not only because he was at a loss of what to say, but also because the bandages wrapped around the majority of his skull made it a bit hard to communicate past that initial grunt. 

There was an odd sort of moment between waking and this illusion to death that he was resting in, where he thought to ask where his wife was at that very moment. As if she would stride into the room, tell him all was well now, that this was the resting place for elves who throw themselves at dragons. 

The look on Elrond's face told him this was not the mysterious end for mortals and foolish elven folk. This was life, and he was dreadfully still tethered to it. He closed the one eye he could manage to open and tried to remember what it was like to breathe evenly again. He tried to focus on what her face looked like, how her hair felt sliding between his finger tips, and the sound that her heart made when he rested his head on her chest in those little moments beneath the stars. 

When a hand wrapped around his own, he imagined it was her own, that she had come to comfort him and lead him to a place where they would be together. He ignored the voice that was chanting magic, and ignored how it made him feel...so...tired. Ignoring it, however, did not stop him from simply drifting back off to sleep. 

In the middle distance he heard them talking, saying that he would recover, physically, at least. Though, damaged. Emotionally? Not entirely, I'm afraid. Our king will never be as he was. He is still our king. Yes. He is.


End file.
